Arbaa
by Sailor Seraphim
Summary: You can choose to leave the life Fate has chosen for you. But if that life is ripped away, what can you do? Quatre Raberba Winner answers this question.


Arbaa  
A Gundam Wing Fanfic  
by:  
Sailor Seraphim  
  
  
  
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Author's Notes:  
  
I don't own Gundam Wing or any of the related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of shounen ai goodness. I am merely expressing my devoted fangirlness (and not making any money off it either). I do, however, own the situations which occur in this fic.  
  
SPOILERS for Gundam Wing TV Series, Endless Waltz, and Episode Zero (namely, Quatre's).   
  
This fic takes place right at the last five minutes of Episode 24. Specifically between the moments when Master Winner and Iria are killed, and Quatre snaps and starts laughing insanely. I happen to *LOVE* ZERO System Quatre.  
  
Also, this is part of the "Numerals Series" of fics I have. They don't have to be read in any particular order, but the ones before this are: "Wu," "Pair," and "Third."  
  
Language Check: "Arbaa" means "four" in Arabic.  
  
WARNINGS: Angst, flashbacks, psychotic episodes, language, graphic descriptions. Also... ZERO System.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
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I was Quatre Raberba Winner.  
  
That was my name.  
  
What does it mean?  
  
In the midst of battle and fighting, I responded more often to the cry of "04" than to my real name. What was in a name, anyway? It was just a placeholder, an easy way to identify individuals. Indeed, I had thrown away my own name, my inheritance, my whole life, to become a Gundam pilot. It was a cause I found worthy. I believed in protecting the innocence and freedom of the Colonies from the malicious hold of OZ and Romafeller. Five boys who believed what I did, fighting a war with the world... it was the stuff that dreams were made of. If you think about it, we were the perfect soldiers. Young. Strong. Who in their right minds would give *children* weapons as destructive as the Gundams?  
  
It was so easy to fool them.  
  
But we weren't children. We were never children. The constant stress of war and missions and battles and killing takes its toll on your soul eventually. Even I, who believed in the highest ideals of fighting for peace, could not look at my hands without expecting them to drip red with the blood of my enemies.  
  
I was Quatre Raberba Winner.  
  
I was a killer.  
  
Were you disappointed in me, Father? Were you disappointed that I turned out slight and slim, blond and pale like my sisters -- the sisters that I had never met? Were you unhappy that I preferred music and negotiations, rather than sports and force? I never tried to earn your respect. I never tried to curry your favor. I turned away from that which you offered me. And why not remove myself from everything you pushed onto me if I was worth nothing in your eyes? You can't deny it.  
  
I know you were disappointed.  
  
I know that when you looked at me, a shutter would drop over your eyes. You would look at me with something like contempt; that out of thirty children, I was your only son. And that's all I was to you, wasn't I?   
  
I was Quatre Raberba Winner.   
  
Heir to Winner Enterprises, Incorporated; the Golden Prince of the L4 Colonies.  
  
That's all I ever was to you. Your heir. Your candidate. Your path to immortality. And even though you were far too busy to bother with me, you made sure that I would be skilled enough to take your position in the company. You made sure that I was raised to know my position so that I could be the Head of the Family. You made sure I knew I was low-born; a common test-tube baby like my never-seen sisters. Replaceable. Unimportant. Nothing.  
  
Why did you tell me?  
  
Why didn't you tell me?  
  
Did you think that if I knew that Quatrina Winner had died to give birth to me, I would turn out weak and emotional? That I would cherish the memory of the mother I had never met and have it compel my every waking thought? Did you think it would make me stronger if I thought only the worst of myself? Did you blame me for killing her?  
  
But, I suppose, in some way, you loved me. In your gruff and unemotional manner, you saw in me something besides your heir.   
  
I was Quatre Raberba Winner.  
  
I was your son.  
  
Perhaps then, you thought I was ungrateful for everything you had given me. I turned away from the Winner ideology of pacifism. I ran away from home -- I ran away from you -- took up arms and took up the battle. Did it destroy you, Father? Did it kill you inside that I turned out to be such a disappointment to you? That despite all your hard work to mold and shape me into your heir, I threw it all away to fight a hopeless war? Or were you secretly proud that your son -- your only son -- stood by his beliefs and fought to preserve the one thing he would sacrifice his life for?  
  
I think you were more angry that I disobeyed you.  
  
But I returned like the Prodigal Son. The Earth did not want me; I had caused too much destruction there. The Colonies did not want me; they feared that I would bring destruction to them. Where was I to go? What allies did I have? Why was there no place for me to lay my head down without fear of being killed in my sleep? I returned home. The L4 Colonies. The place that bore me through my life and that I now struggled to protect.   
  
I returned to you.  
  
But they killed you. The people of the Colonies. The people I was supposed to protect. They turned their backs to me and offered me like a sacrificial lamb to the clutches of OZ. Or, rather, they offered up Gundam Pilot 04 as a sacrificial lamb. I was still Quatre Raberba Winner. They never knew the real me. But then the Colonies turned against us as well. The Winners. They pushed away everything you had given them. They forgot completely everything you had sacrificed to make the L4 Colonies the most prosperous in the Earth Sphere. They forgot you. That, in a way, was worse than when the Colonies pushed me away. I was Gundam pilot after all. I was fighting to protect the Colonies, though they did not know of it. I fought so that their hands would not be stained with the blood of war.  
  
But they stained their hands anyway when they sacrificed you.  
  
So what did I fight for? The peace of the Colonies? They destroyed that fragile peace when they killed you. It was a lie. Everything that I had fought for was a lie. I am laughing now. It is all so very funny. Everything is so amusing. They don't know what is waiting for them. They don't know at all. Space has gone insane. I cannot allow this to happen. Insanity does not belong in space. Nothing belongs in space anymore. It is all tarnished, dirty and impure. It is all nothing. My hands are covered in blood. Who will notice a little more?  
  
They destroyed it all.   
  
So, in return, I will destroy all of them.  
  
I am Quatre Raberba Winner.  
  
I will make them pay.  
  
  
  
  
-- Owari -- 


End file.
